


Hell is a Poor Synonym

by maxifaye



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, SVU - Freeform, Sexual Assault, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxifaye/pseuds/maxifaye
Summary: Leonard McCoy hates New York.





	1. Chapter 1

Leonard McCoy hates New York. He hates the traffic, the noise, the lights, the toe-curling, savage cold of its winters, and the goddamn arrogance of that named-it-twice, Big Apple bullshit.

Being stuck on night shift on a bitter January night, then, in that very city, does nothing for his mood. He supposes it's lucky the guy whose hand he’s suturing is too drunk to notice his eye rolls, sarcastic comments, and glances of unrestrained loathing, but that luck is offset by the fact that this idiot apparently thinks that ‘crockery karate’ is an ingenious idea that just needs a little fine-tuning. And worse, thinks Leonard is a good audience for his inane rambling. 

Fourteen stitches later, much neater than the dumbass deserves, and Leonard leaves him to finish his banana bag. “Don't you dare karate chop _anything_ ,” he growls in parting.

Christine Chapel, one of the few nurses whose full name he's managed to learn so far, is immediately there, handing him a new patient file. He glares, of course, but she doesn't bat an eyelid – nurses mostly come with some kind of immunity to the McCoy stare, which sends interns and residents and, occasionally, the odd Chief of Medicine running.

“Broken nose and contusions in 3. She’s already stated it’s domestic violence: she's waiting for the police to meet her here. Won't consent to treatment till they do, but that nose looks gnarly.”

“Got it. Can you get the imbecile in 6 discharge papers?”

“Sure thing.”

Leonard knocks before entering Exam 3, and enters to find a blonde woman perched on the bed, wearing a thick, cosy parka and clutching a red-soaked cloth to her nose. “Janice Rand?” he checks.

“That's me,” she replies thickly.

“I understand you've been assaulted and you've already informed the police?”

“They said they'd come here.”

“The nurse you spoke to is aware and will send them right through - I'd like to get a look at you while we're waiting, though.” He notes the way she flinches back at that. “Is there a problem with that? I understand that this is an extremely difficult situation; I can ask a female nurse to stay in here as well but I'm afraid the only doctors on duty tonight are male.” Flu season: another reason to hate New York, where bugs spread quicker than wildfire.

“No, that's not it,” Janice says. “I just … I want this done right. I want to make sure he doesn't get any chance to get away with it, and I know the police need to get all the evidence. If you go fixing my nose up too well, then the photos …”

“Believe me,” Leonard says, “whatever asshole did this to you, I want him to go down for it too. And from what I can see of your nose and all that blood coming out of it, you've got no worries. Even when I get that bleeding stopped, it's gonna be ugly as hell.” He raises an eyebrow, and in return Janice almost smiles, and removes the bloody cloth.

Leonard feels anger like a fizzing in his veins at the full view of her battered face, but he keeps his fingers gentle as he checks the break. There's no misalignment or clear fluid discharge, so he butterflies the cut over the bridge and fetches an ice pack for the swelling. As he finishes checking Janice's reflexes and tracking, there's a tap on the door and Christine shows in two police detectives.

Leonard immediately feels guilty for thinking it, because really, it's hardly relevant to the situation, but he can't help but notice that these are the two best looking cops he's ever seen. It's three am and they look like they've both just stepped off a catwalk, all perfect hair and long slim bodies and the kind of symmetrical, slightly-too-large features that belong on movie stars, not NYPD cops. 

“Janice Rand? I'm Sergeant Nyota Uhura,” the first detective says. “This is Detective Jim Kirk.” She gestures to her colleague. “We're from the Special Victims Unit.”

“I was raped,” Janice says, suddenly and emphatically. “He raped me.”

“That's why we're here,” Uhura says calmly. Leonard isn't sure what to do in light of this new, horrific information, and ends up staying very still, standing by Janice's shoulder.

“We need to take a statement from you, and gather evidence,” Kirk says, his voice quiet but clear. It sounds very deliberately pitched, Leonard thinks, and he notes that both detectives are holding eye contact with Janice, focused but reassuring. “Once we've done that, you can decide whether you want to press charges against your rapist.”

"I do," Janice says immediately. "He – Charlie - can't do this. He can't get away with it.”

“Our aim is to do as much as possible to ensure that he doesn't,” Jim says.

“The first thing we'd like to do is run a rape kit,” Uhura says. “That way we can gather as much physical evidence as we can. Are you happy to do that, Janice?”

Janice is nodding before she's even finished asking the question. “Yes, yes - whatever you need.”

“Doctor … ?” Detective Kirk asks, directing his gaze at Leonard for the first time. 

“McCoy,” he supplies gruffly.

“Does Janice have any injuries or pending tests that would delay the kit?”

“No sign of concussion. I only had a chance to look at the nose, though.”

“Janice, do you have any other injuries that require urgent medical attention?” Uhura asks.

“No. Just the obvious,” she replies, crossing her eyes to gesture at her nose and smiling ruefully. Leonard can't believe she's managing even an attempt at humour, right now, and he feels a rush of admiration. 

"I can do the exam,” Christine says from where she's been standing at the closed door. I'm a SANE.”

“Thanks,” Uhura says. “Janice, Dr McCoy and Detective Kirk are going to step outside while this happens. The process takes around four to six hours. Would you like me to stay?”

Despite Janice’s unwavering, determined attitude so far, she looks so grateful at Uhura’s offer that Leonard suddenly realises how much effort that must have taken, and as she responds affirmatively he sees for the first time how tightly she's hugging her jacket around her.

“I'll be back when you're finished to help take your statement,” Kirk says. He smiles briefly at Janice, then holds out an arm to let Leonard precede him out of the exam room.

Once outside, Leonard takes a deep breath. “You okay?” Kirk asks.

“Yeah,” Leonard says automatically. “It just makes me sick, thinking someone could treat a woman like that.”

Kirk looks sympathetic, but a little sickened himself, too. “Yeah, well, that's the right reaction. Most ER docs I know look a little less like they're gonna throw up on me, though. You look kinda old – no offence – to be new at this.”

“First of all, I absolutely _do_ take offence,” Leonard snits, “but seeing as you barely look out of freshman year I'll give it a pass. Secondly, I am new. Accent should give it away, genius. Moved to this armpit of a goddamn city two weeks ago. Already been two weeks too long. City of disease and despair, wrapped up in superficial materialism and selfishness.”

Kirk looks surprised at the rant for a second, then bursts out laughing. “Wow, okay. You know, don't hold back so much, tell me how you really feel. And I'm taking the freshman comment as a compliment, just so you know.” He grins, and Leonard notices all over again how fucking gorgeous he is, all big Julia Roberts lips, perfect teeth, and out-of-this-world eyes, the kind of unnaturally bright blue that always pops even more under the fluorescent ER lights. 

Good-looking, vaguely-flirty cops are just about the last kind of complication Leonard needs in his life right now, though, so he forces himself to ignore the grin and ask instead, “How likely is it you’ll get the guy?”

Kirk’s face falls, and he shrugs. “Hard to say. She’s come in immediately, which helps with the evidence. But they’re partners, so …”

“But her face; he obviously -” Leonard protests.

Kirk shakes his head. “Yeah, we can get him for assault. But rape’s a whole other matter. Conviction stats are pretty dire. Where did you live before you moved here? Didn’t you come across any sexual assault?”

“Greywood, Georgia. Population: 3,000. Not exactly a bustling metropolis. Lowest crime rates in the state, let alone the county. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, but I didn’t see much of anything trauma-related except the odd broken bone. I’m a goddamn expert on broken bones.”

“I’ll know where to come next time I fall out a tree, then,” Kirk says. “How come the big move?”

Leonard curls his lip. “Ex-wife got offered a job here. Big bucks, big opportunities. She’s got custody of our daughter, so unless I followed her I wasn’t gonna get to see her.”

“That’s tough,” Kirk says. “Bet she’s worth the disease and despair, though.” He smiles, and Leonard can’t help but respond in kind. 

“Not many are,” he grumbles.

“So,” Kirk says, “ _ex_ -wife, huh?”

“Okay, no, you need to go get some coffee or do whatever you’re planning on doing while you’re waiting. Canteen’s thataway – I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure to meet you, Detective Kirk-“

“Jim-“

“-but, well. I need to get back to work.”

Kirk – okay, Jim – smiles ruefully, and Leonard is absolutely and completely not charmed when he fires off a sloppy salute and says, “So long, Bones,” before turning in the direction of the canteen.

Leonard watches him go, and takes a second to process before calling after him, “That’s not my name!”

Leonard’s shift isn’t over until eight am, and the ER gets busy. They get six people in from a limo crash, a couple of stab wounds, and more of what he realises is going to be the usual from now on: a few drunks, some tweakers, a hypochondriac, and a wretched case of projectile vomiting which results in him changing into scrubs and a new white coat only an hour away from finishing his shift. While he’s on his way back from the break room, though, that’s when he sees Christine escorting Janice, Uhura, and Jim through the double doors, presumably towards one of the family rooms where they can take Janice’s statement. He frowns, oddly disappointed. He knows, realistically, that the chances of keeping tabs on patients after seeing them is going to be almost non-existent in comparison to back in Greywood, where everyone knew exactly what was going on with everyone before they even left the parking lot at the tiny urgent care clinic. But that had been what he liked about the place: small, provincial, _backward_ , Jocelyn had even called it, yes – but there had been a sense of community there he doesn’t think he’ll ever find in New York.

By the time his shift is over, he’s exhausted, and he emerges onto the street blinking against the white glare of the winter sun, still low in the sky. The city is already in full flow, thousands and thousands of people trying to get to work on time. He hates the thought of crowding into the subway at this time of day, or sitting in an unmoving cab for far longer than necessary, so he checks on his phone for meetings within walking distance. He can head home when rush hour’s done.

He’s just started walking west towards a church hall, head down and hands in pockets, when a hand catches him just above the elbow. He whirls around in terror, half expecting some guy to be holding a gun on him and demanding he hand over all his money, but instead he's faced with a surprised-looking Detective Jim Perfect Features Kirk.

“Woah, hey, jumpy much?” he says, and there's light teasing in his tone but also a hint of concern which makes Bones bristle even more as his heart rate goes back to normal.

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly used to being accosted in the street,” he retorts grumpily.

“I called your name like five times, but you didn't hear me,” Jim says. “Christine told me you'd headed out this way and that I might catch you.”

Bones shrugs. “Well, you caught me. What do you want?”

“Just to let you know that we took Janice’s statement, and that along with the evidence, we think we've probably got a good case. I mean, I'm making no guarantees, but I'm about as hopeful as I ever let myself get, so … I just thought you might like to know.”

He really _does_ like to know – Leonard still feels like he's had a crappy day, and that New York is an armpit populated by mostly selfish, idiotic humans, but the knowledge that maybe Janice Rand’s rapist will get what he deserves does inject a tiny bit of pleasure and satisfaction into his day. “That's good,” he says roughly. “Real good. Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem. Hey, Bones – Leonard, sorry – you want to get a coffee or something sometime?”

There’s no self-consciousness when he asks, and why would there be, Leonard thinks: the kid is gorgeous, probably has people falling all over to get asked on a date with him. He has no idea why he's asking _him_ , though, and he says so: “Seriously? You know I'm recently divorced; I'm too old for you; and I've bitten your head off at least twice in the ten minutes we've actually spent talking. What about that makes you think I'm going to say yes to you?”

“Well, you know, you're pretty hilarious when you get all crotchety,” Jim says, “and you're not _that_ old.” He grins obnoxiously. “Hey, no harm, no foul. I got nothing to lose by asking. You know where to find me if you decide you want a friendly face to show you round the city.”

“SVU,” Leonard says with a curt nod, glancing at his watch - it's not like he’ll be called out for being late, or anything, but he hates creeping in the back and he hasn't been to this place before; he hasn't timed the walking distance.

“Well, I'll let you get to where you need to,” Jim says with a smile and a casual wave. “Take care, Bones.”

Leonard rolls his eyes and says again, “That's not my damn name,” but if Jim hears him, he doesn't respond, and Leonard watches him walk away until he's jostled by another pedestrian and turns, heading on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Jim is a member of the Special Victims Unit, there will be further references to crimes of an "especially heinous" nature. I thought long and hard about using this kind of set-up for an AU primarily about two men, but plot-wise, Jim has specific reasons for following this career path, and that was the trigger for me writing this in the first place. I don't intend the women in the 'verse to be devalued or used only as victims - but at the same time, I don't want to downplay the fact that rape is very much a male crime, and women make up the majority of victims, so poor Janice very much got the raw end of the deal in this first instalment.
> 
> This is not yet fully written, but it is outlined. Will keep updates as regular as possible. No beta, so all mistakes my own. Please let me know if you spot anything weird!
> 
> SANE = Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner


	2. Chapter 2

Leonard’s first few weeks in New York are busy: he'd thought the initial run of shifts he'd picked up at Eastern General were due to the flu making its rounds, but it turns out there's more work than he'd been expecting to get as an out-of-practice ER doc fresh from Nowheresville. He takes the shifts gratefully - visitation with Joanna is limited so he's got a lot of time to kill, and nobody to get him out and about in a city he isn't warming to at all. Christine, who remains one of the most tolerable people at work, drags him out one night with some of the other staff, but he's not good at small talk and he's already cultivated a reputation for being surly and unapproachable, so for both his sake and theirs he leaves early. 

He does, on one occasion, late one night when there's nothing to watch on 300 channels and he can't sleep and the itchy feel of want is running through his blood, Google the phone number of the Special Victims Unit. He stares at it for five minutes, and half-rehearses a conversation which starts with him inquiring after Janice Rand, before snapping out of it and shutting down his computer with a volley of self-directed recriminations.

He's almost settled into a routine when he encounters Jim for the second time. It's not much of a routine, really, involving two hours on every other Saturday with Joanna, four or five shifts a week, and a lot of sports and daytime TV – but he's worked out where the good pizza delivery places are near his apartment (which now has furniture; big progress) and which meetings are on in walking distance of the hospital. He's grudgingly getting used to the steady intake and outtake of patients whose names he won't remember and whose fates, unless they die under his care (there's more of that here, too, which he tries to remind himself is due to statistics and proportional population rather than a sudden decrease in his skills) he will never know.

The anonymity, then, means that it's genuinely surprising when he goes on shift one morning and recognises someone who is not a doctor, nurse, or one of the support staff. It's Jim’s partner - Uhura, he recalls – who is standing in the corridor on her cellphone. When he approaches he can see she looks far less assured than she was last time, the calm, professional expression replaced by a nervous frown, and her top lip worried by her teeth. She finishes her call as he reaches her.

“Detective Uhura?” he says, and she turns to face him, exuding tension and concern. 

He can see her mind working as she tries to place him in her memory, glancing down at the name tag on his white coat. "Dr McCoy ... oh, yes! A few weeks ago, when Janice came in. It's good to see you."

"Well, I think it'd probably be better if you didn't see me," Leonard says, and at her puzzled expression explains: "On account of this being a hospital, and me being a doctor, and those two things usually meaning someone has been hurt. And, you know, your line of work and all. It's a depressing combo, is what I'm saying."

"Okay," Uhura says, eyebrow raised. "Well, I guess you've got a point. I'm not here for the same reason as last time, though. This time, my idiot partner got himself hurt."

"Jim?"

"Yeah - are you busy or can you take a look? I'm sure the doc that's with him is great, but Jim's got allergies and a habit of pretending he's fine, so-"

"Sure," Leonard agrees before he's even really thought about it. "I just started, where is he?"

Uhura takes him to the cubicle where Jim is, pulling back the curtain to reveal the blond detective sitting on a gurney while Greg Foster, an irritatingly eager intern, prods at his ribs.

"Hey, Nyota, if you want to see me shirtless you just have to ask, you don't have to barge in like - hey, is that Bones?"

"Shut up, idiot," Uhura says with no real bite, crossing to the other side of Jim - getting as close as possible while staying out of the way, Leonard notes. 

"Also, no, it's not, it's _Dr McCoy,_ " Leonard corrects him. "What the hell have you done to yourself?" he demands, moving a fairly bemused Foster out of his way. 

"Mr Kirk presents with pain and bruising to his lower three ribs - I'm going to order x-rays to ascertain whether they're broken - and he also has a gash on his flank which requires sutures," Foster rattles off enthusiastically. 

Leonard grabs a rolling stool and leans in to examine Jim's ribs himself, running his fingers along and over the curved bones and delicate intercostals. "Hey, how are you?" Jim asks, tensing under his touch but not allowing that to diminish the wattage of his smile. 

"Better than you, clearly," Leonard says gruffly. "They aren't broken, kid, just bruised."

"That's what I said!" Jim crows at Uhura. "And Dr McCoy's an expert on bones, he told me last time."

"I'll look at that gash in a minute," Leonard says. "Foster, I'll take this from here - I think I saw Valdez working on a compound fracture in 4; that's way more interesting than this."

"Hey," Jim objects as Foster skedaddles excitedly.

Uhura scoffs at him. "It's not a competition, moron." Jim grins wider, apparently delighted at her annoyance.

"So how'd this happen?" Leonard asks, peeling the gauze back on the gash - its ragged, and gnarly, not too deep but enough that it must hurt like a bitch. Jim doesn't even flinch.

"Suspect decided to resist arrest; he got in a lucky shove and I landed against a wall with an old bit of twisted iron sticking out."

"He hit hard," Uhura adds. "For some reason Jim thought he was better equipped to handle this guy than the detective with the black belt in jiu jitsu."

"In case Nyota's not making it clear enough for you, Bones, _she's_ the black belt. And she only mentions it, like, once or twice a goddamn _day._ "

Leonard concentrates on the wound, letting their mock-antagonistic chat float over his head. He keeps in mind, though, Uhura's tense, worried face when he saw her in the hall, and he notes how Jim is speaking lightly, joking happily, but his body is hard and tensed under his touch, almost trembling. "Hit your head at all?" he asks when he's satisfied with his side, picking up the chart Foster has written on in incongruously neat handwriting.

"No, just the side," Jim says. He's still smiling, but Leonard can see, when he looks for them, the signs of concealed pain: tightness round the eyes, pallor, especially around his mouth; the slightly-too-quick, shallow breaths.

"He's got allergies," Uhura says, that worry flaring again.

"They're on here," Leonard assures her, scanning the fairly-lengthy list himself. "It's okay. Nothing we can't work around. You got the guy in custody?"

"Yeah, I just got off the phone with the boss. She's waiting for me to interview him."

"Go," Jim tells her. "Come on, I'm fine. You stick around any longer I'll tell Spock you couldn't stop staring at my fabulous abs."

"You're a total cretin - you know that, right?" Uhura says with a fond eye roll. “Call one of us when you're done, okay - we'll come get you.”

“I don't need a babysitter to catch a cab,” Jim protests.

“ _You_ need a babysitter 24/7,” Uhura informs him coolly, gathering up her jacket from where it's lying on the gurney behind Jim. Leonard is prepping the suture kit, and he flinches and nearly knocks the whole thing over when he catches sight of Jim’s holstered gun as she moves things around, quickly concealing the weapon once more.

Uhura leaves them with a brief squeeze to Jim’s shoulder on the uninjured side and a thank you to Leonard, and he takes a minute or two to breathe and get the needle ready. When he looks up, Jim is doing some careful breathing of his own, his eyes closed, suddenly looking much less chipper than he was when Uhura was still present.

“You okay with lidocaine?” he asks gently: it's not on the list of allergies Jim had given Foster but he always checks verbally too.

“Yeah, I'm good,” Jim answers, and Leonard goes ahead and numbs the suture site.

Jim winces when he does it, and Leonard frowns a little at his increased pallor. He knows Jim can't exactly be comfortable, but he suspects maybe the kid isn't the biggest fan of needles, either.

“You let me know if you feel sick or dizzy, okay?”

“I'm good,” Jim repeats stoically. 

“Uh-huh. You know, she's left, so you can drop the macho act.” Jim opens his eyes and looks at Leonard. “Bruised ribs hurt pretty bad. And if you've got an issue with needles, it's better I know now.”

Jim hesitates only a little while longer before relenting. “They're not my favourite thing ever, okay? But I won't pass out or hurl on you.”

“Good to know. Just lay back a little and don't look, then. Won't take long.”

“I might cry a little. Weep, maybe. I can't promise not to do that,” Jim adds, with a smile that Leonard instinctually starts to respond to before turning it into a scowl instead.

He checks the area is numb, then gets on with the suturing. Jim breathes slowly and steadily, following advice and not looking, and Leonard lets himself get caught up in the soothing motion of threading the skin back together. Sutures are usually passed off to interns as junk work, but because Leonard was new and untested when he first arrived he'd spent most of his shifts stitching people back up, and he liked it. Enjoyed the mindlessness of it, the focus solely on making the wound close as neatly and tidily as possible. 

“How can you do that with such big hands?” Jim asks suddenly, interrupting him, and he turns to see Jim peering at his handiwork, his face an odd mixture of admiration and wooziness.

“Don't look, you infant!” Leonard scolds him. Then, when he hears the shallowness of Jim’s breathing, he answers the question in an attempt to distract him. “My grandma taught me to sew when I was a kid. She always said it wasn't just a woman's job, so I was darning socks from the age of eight. Good thing, too, ‘cause Jocelyn – my ex - couldn't sew to save her life. It was me who sewed up Joanna’s toys whenever they sprung a fluffy leak.”

“Joanna’s your daughter?”

“That's her. Smartest kid you'll ever meet.”

“You gonna teach her to sew too?” Jim asks.

Leonard pauses briefly before continuing his stitch. “Maybe. I only get two hours every second week with her right now, and sitting there sewing doesn't seem like the best use of our time.”

“I'm sure she likes spending time with you whatever way she can get it,” Jim says, and it's his turn to speak gently, in a way that simultaneously makes Leonard want to lean into it and lash out at the same time.

He coughs and changes the subject. "Who's this Spock you were ribbing your partner about?”

“Her boyfriend,” Jim responds, rolling with the subject change easily, to Leonard’s relief. “Also an ADA we work with a lot. He's hilarious. He's like, allergic to metaphors or something. Fun to wind up. Really good at his job, though. He's prosecuting the guy who raped Janice, the woman you were examining the last time we met.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She's okay. In counselling, but she's pretty tough. She's not backing down, even though the guy and his legal team are total assholes and playing as shady as they can. Spock’s great though. A man of details. Hey, are you done?”

“Yep. Best sutures you'll get in your life,” Leonard says, tossing the waste into the sharps bin and preparing to dress the wound. Jim is twisted, trying to look as closely as possible at it, and Leonard pokes him to get him to sit back up. “Wait till you get home and can look in the mirror, for Chrissake,” he mutters, applying the dressing.

“Thanks,” Jim says a minute later. “For stitching me up, and, you know, distracting me from the needle.”

“Just trying to avoid having you throw up on me,” Leonard replies casually.

“Oh yeah, totally. It's definitely not because you're a nice person or anything like that. You're just a grumpy Southern doctor with no time for us New York ingrates,” he drawls, in a terrible approximation of Leonard's own accent.

“That’s right,” Leonard agrees, and he knows he lets his amusement filter into his voice because when he looks up again Jim is grinning like a maniac. “Don't smile so much. You're a cop, it's unbecoming.”

“I have a naturally sunny disposition,” Jim informs him.

“Again, unbecoming,” Leonard tells him, scribbling new information on Jim’s chart.

Jim just keeps grinning, and when Leonard is finished writing he neatly steals the pen right out of his hand and writes something down on a scrap of paper torn from his notebook, which he hands to Leonard. Unsurprisingly, it's a phone number.

“Hey, I’m also very persistent,” he says at Leonard's raised eyebrow. “And I don't know, I think I could make you like the city more. Or at least, I could take you to the zoo while you bitched, which would be fun.”

“Your idea of fun is weird,” Leonard tells him. Then, in the interest of being fair: “Listen, kid, it's not that I'm not flattered, I just … I'm not a good idea for anyone, right now. I'm the last person-“

“Jim!” A woman with shockingly bright red hair pokes her head into the cubicle. “You look hideous,” she informs him, immediately crossing over and folding him in a hug as Leonard stands back and up, the scrap with Jim’s number in his hand despite his reluctance.

Jim shoots him an apologetic look over the woman’s shoulder. “Gaila, I'm fine, really. You didn't need to come get me.”

“Nyota called me – and of course I did! Hikaru’s picking up lunch to have at your place - he's okay to eat, right, Doctor?” She turns to Leonard suddenly.

“Yeah, he's fine. I've written a prescription for mild painkillers for the next five days – take them, they won't affect your cognition – but the wound looks good and the ribs will start to feel better quickly. Follow up with your primary care physician to get those stitches out in a week,” he tells Jim.

“I will,” Jim promises. “Good to see you again, Bones – maybe one day we’ll meet somewhere that's not a hospital, huh?”

Gaila looks instantly intrigued and delighted, scrutinising Leonard, and he blushes furiously. “We’ll see. Bye, Jim,” he says shortly, and leaves the cubicle as swiftly as he can, seeking out a new, less complicated patient who will find his grouchiness intimidating, not appealing.

He accepts the mildly hypothermic drunk Christine hands him with no complaint, something she raises an eyebrow at, and retreats into Exam 5 – but not before catching a glimpse of Jim leaving the hospital, Gaila at his side. He forcibly subdues a pang of envy – not even aimed at her, specifically, but at Jim, who has friends waiting for him with lunch; friends that call people to tell them he’s hurt who rush to his side; friends that tease him and squeeze his shoulder. He thinks about his newly furnished apartment, and the cardboard slat he'd written his name on to slide into the grooves on the downstairs buzzer system, indicating that 5d is his home. And he thinks about the fact that, since he moved in, the only person who has pressed that buzzer was a stoner who actually wanted the guy in 5b. 

He hates this goddamn city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New to AO3 posting, so just a heads up: I'm adding tags as I go, and some of those will be warnings, so just a quick note so you keep your eyes out in case anything triggers appears. I can promise no death! But more heinous. :-/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags very carefully - and, if they raise concerns, there's more detail in the end notes.

Weekends are the worst, especially the ones where he doesn't get to see Joanna and instead hangs around his apartment imagining her with Jocelyn, exploring the city and making new memories that he is absolutely not a part of. And, to be honest, even the weekends where he does get to see her aren't much of a picnic. It’s not that he doesn’t love seeing her, obviously – but when he does get to see her, it’s only for two hours and leaving feels like laying a new bruise right on top of an old one. It’s not enough time to do much with her, either, except visit the park (a twenty minute walk), or play a few games, maybe braid her hair while getting her to tell him about how school is going.

Or, in the case of this Saturday, four and a half months after moving to the city, to watch a SpongeBob marathon on Nickelodeon. Well, Joanna watches: Leonard sits next to her and watches _her_ , cataloguing any and all changes since the last time he saw her. She’s had a haircut, and her bangs are irritating her; she has to push them behind her ears every couple of minutes and they’re just too short to stay back. There’s a new scab on her knee from falling off her bike, and she has a friendship bracelet on her wrist from Shannon, who is apparently awesome. Leonard has no clue what this new BFF looks like, and he hates that.

They’re watching TV because that’s what Joanna said she wanted to do, in tears and fractious because she’s tired after an overly-busy school week and because Leonard was late. He always leaves in plenty of time, paranoid about traversing the city and its sprawling suburbs, and spends a good forty minutes before knocking on Jocelyn’s door sitting in a coffee shop a block over. Today, though, there had been a power issue on the subway and he’d been stuck on a train between stations for over an hour. When he’d finally got off, it had been hell catching a cab and so he’d arrived fifteen minutes late. Which, due to his journey paranoia, was way better than it could have been, but proportionally it felt like a huge cut in time. The one silver lining was that clearly Joanna was as upset as he was to be missing out on their time together - and while he never, ever wants her to be upset by him again, it was at least good to know she missed him too when he wasn't there.

Credit where credit’s due: after a couple of episodes of SpongeBob, Joanna has cheered up remarkably and is cuddling up to Leonard, and he manages to get her sitting at the table in the den, colouring in and telling him more about the famous Shannon and last week’s science trip. It’s over too quickly, though, and it feels like he’s barely seen her for a few minutes when Jocelyn knocks on the door, their agreed signal that his visit is over.

Joanna doesn’t cry when he leaves: she wells up briefly then visibly swallows it back down, and that makes Leonard feel more horrific than outright tears would have. He hugs her hard, cups the back of her delicate skull and feels the ends of her hair press into his palm higher up than they did last time, and then he leaves. Jocelyn is waiting in the kitchen, and he doesn’t start the conversation with her then and there but points outside at the front lawn.

Jocelyn shuts the door quietly behind her and follows him down the porch steps. She crosses her arms over her chest and waits for him to speak first.

“I hate leaving her like that,” he says eventually, trying for a neutral tone but knowing it comes out accusatory. 

“I know,” Jocelyn says, not without compassion. “But these are the terms we’ve agreed on.”

“I know that,” Leonard bites out. “But it’s been months, Jocelyn, with two goddamn hours every two weeks, and it’s not making her happy or me happy – are you happy, dammit?”

“For God’s sake, Len, it’s not about _happiness_ right now – it’s about security, and stability. Both of which Joanna is getting, and suddenly changing the visitation agreement will jeopardise that! I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“I’m pretty sure you like it more than I do,” Leonard snaps. “Seeing as you get _her_ , and you get what you always wanted, living in your dream city with your dream job-“

“With a dream divorce behind me, too, don’t forget about that,” Jocelyn interrupts sharply, her calm façade cracking. “You’re such a fucking revisionist, you know that? I loved you, okay? And I loved our life together. Yes, I wanted to try new things and get out of goddamn Greywood, but I wanted that to be _with_ you. _You’re_ the one who made it clear that would never happen! _You’re_ the one who screwed things up with Joanna!”

She stops and takes a deep breath, running her hands through her hair – she’s had hers cut, too; shorter and sleeker. Leonard bet it looks great when she’s in her business suit, presenting pitches and talking to executives.

“Look,” she says, recollecting her measured tone from earlier, “I know it’s difficult. But we agreed that we’d only rethink the custody agreement if you met certain conditions. Yelling at me like this just proves you haven’t got your head right yet.”

“I’m a month away from my six-month chip,” Leonard says, the fight draining out of him. “When I get it, please, can we talk about getting the court order changed?”

Jocelyn sighs again, dropping her head briefly. “Fine. Whatever. If you get the chip, we’ll discuss this further. In the meantime, just show up on time.”

She turns away from him and goes back into the house while he struggles not to explode at that, because he’s got no control over the incompetence of the New York City subway system, for God’s sake, but he realises that screaming about it on her front lawn in her pretty suburb in front of all her new neighbours won’t exactly mollify her or counter her argument. He settles for striding away furiously, knowing that she’s watching from the kitchen window.

His heart’s racing as he leaves, and he can feel the itch everywhere in his body: his fingers curl and his stomach lurches and his mouth goes horribly dry. There’s no way he’s getting back on the subway, and just the thought of having to interact with anyone right now is intolerable, so he eschews calling a cab in favour of walking angrily back in the direction of the city.

His fury propels him, and he relives the afternoon as he walks: Joanna’s wet cheeks, the argument with Jocelyn. His mind drifts further back, to Greywood and the fights they had there, everything that caused their rift, until he’s so on edge that it shows on his face, and he notices someone actually crossing the road to avoid him. He realises then that he’s been walking for just over two hours, and his feet hurt and he’s starting a shift at the hospital in just under another two.

There’s a meeting on a couple of blocks from Eastern General, so he finds the nearest subway and risks getting back on it, his mood still black but the anger not quite so hot in his chest, the adrenaline fading gradually from his system. He sits impatiently through the meeting, choosing not to speak as always but twirling his red chip over and over in his fingers. 

He goes on shift fifteen minutes early, because there’s nothing else for him to do and he needs the distraction. Something must still be showing on his face, because Christine eyes him carefully when she sees him, but when he asks gruffly, “What?” she just shrugs. He notices, though, that she seems to somehow know that he just wants to have something to focus on, and whenever he’s finished with a patient she has a new chart or request or some test results to give him immediately.

It works, right up until she hands him the chart of a four-month old baby presenting with a high temperature. He meets the parents: first-timers, the pair of them, white-faced with fear, clutching one another as he expertly administers an IV into the tiny veins and tries to get her temp down in the first instance. He calls a paediatric consult down, fairly certain it’s a simple dose of flu but that they’ll want her admitted to keep an eye on her, and when the doctor arrives from upstairs one of the first things she does – after checking the baby is stable – is check her nappy.

That’s when it all goes to hell. Leonard never wants to hear again the conversation he hears that night between the paediatric doctor, Dr Chung, and the parents, where she explains that there is blood in the nappy, but it’s coming not from her anus but her vagina, and that they therefore have a responsibility to report a concern to the police. Leonard watches as the terrified faces of her parents go slack in shock: of all the things they were scared about happening tonight, he thinks, this was last on their list. He’s convinced they’re innocent, but when Dr Chung speaks to him outside the room he can sees she’s reserving judgement.

“I can call SVU,” he hears himself saying, without having consciously planned to. “I know a detective there.”

“Great, thank you,” Dr Chung says, saying that she’ll deal with the paperwork, and he walks away, feeling dazed, like he’s taken a hit to the head. 

He realises as he heads for the lockers that it’s not strictly SVU’s number that he has, but rather Jim Kirk’s, the scrap of paper from his notebook still stored in Leonard’s jacket pocket. It’s good enough, he decides, and dials the number shakily.

It takes Jim three rings to pick up, and he answers with a groggy, raspy, “Detective Kirk,” like he’s just been woken up – which he has, Leonard realises: it’s 1am.

“Hey, um. It’s Leonard McCoy. Sorry.”

“Bones? What’s up?” Jim answers. “You okay?”

“There’s been a … an incident at the hospital. A kid – baby.”

“Abused?” Jim asks, fully alert now.

“Possibly – there’s blood, in her nappy, and the pedes consult said we had to report it … she’s four months old.”

“Okay, hey, Bones, hey. You did good, calling me. It’s awful, I know. Listen, I’m off-duty but I’ll be with you as soon as I can, okay, let me just call it in to the office, all right?” 

“Yeah – yes, of course. Sorry, I didn’t realise you weren’t-“

“It’s fine, Bones, seriously. Just sit tight, okay? I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Leonard hangs up and sits for a minute, twisting his hands, before getting up and heading back into the ER, still feeling weirdly disconnected but with the faint idea of getting back to work – he thinks he could handle some sutures, at least. No thinking required. Christine, though, takes one look at him and shoves him back into the break room, and fetches him a cup of coffee that’s tar-like in consistency and strength. She sits with him for ten minutes, letting him tell her about the baby and the parents, and she tries to reassure him that there could be other reasons for the bleeding; that even if it is the worst case scenario, he might be right and the parents have nothing to do with it.

It doesn't help massively, but he appreciates her effort and it does at least allow him to sit waiting for SVU to arrive with some hopeful, not just horrific, thoughts.

Christine knocks on the door to let him know they've arrived, and he rushes out to meet them along with Dr Chung, who, he's insanely relieved to know, is going to take the matter from here. He also feels guilty that he's so relieved, but he just doesn't think he can handle this tonight. Maybe not any night, but tonight seems worse.

“Bones,” Jim says as soon as he enters his line of sight, crossing quickly to Leonard and gripping his shoulder. “Hey. Sorry it took a little longer than expected.”

“It's fine,” Leonard croaks, fighting the urge he has to curl towards Jim, to fold himself into the gap between Jim’s outstretched arm and chest.

“These are Detectives Sulu and O’Neill - you've met Gaila before.” He gestures at the two people with him, and he recognises the redhead as the friend who'd collected Jim after his injury. She offers him a subdued wave, while Sulu sends a serious nod in his direction. “They're going to handle the investigation from here,” Jim tells him. 

Leonard frowns. “What are you …” He takes in Jim's clothing, the hooded sweatshirt and lived-in jeans and tennis shoes, compared to Gaila and Sulu’s more professional attire. “You were off-duty,” he recalls dully, as the two _on_ -duty detectives head off to speak with Dr Chung.

“I'm never totally off-duty,” Jim says kindly.

“I panicked. Chung said police report and I thought of you, but I didn't _think_ …”

“It's cool, Bones, really. You sounded kind of bad on the phone, though, so I figured I'd come see if you needed a ride home, or some food, or something.”

“I'm still on shift,” Leonard mumbles, but God, a ride home sounds incredible right now.

“Yeah, no he's not,” Christine interjects, addressing Jim. “I called up Foster. He's on next shift and offered to come in early.”

“That was good of him – and you,” Jim says.

“Well, like most interns, he owes me approximately eight hundred favours,” Christine says, handing Leonard his jacket. “Take him home, willya?”

“I got it.”

Leonard lets himself be guided out of the hospital, Jim’s hand resting on his back, but the cold winter air clears his head a little and he stops. “You don’t have to take me home, I’m fine,” he says. He feels like he’s been mildly drunk and that he’s just starting to sober up; he also feels like he wants to get _really_ drunk immediately. He reaches for the chip in his pocket and starts twirling it in his fingers again.

“You’re a terrible actor,” Jim informs him, and Leonard looks up at him only to lose his grip on the chip. Jim reaches down with whippet reflexes and catches it as it starts to roll away from him on the dirty concrete, and brings it back up.

He’s casual about it: he clearly sees and recognises the chip for what it is but he simply hands it back to Leonard and then motions down the street. “Come on, man, I’m offering you a free ride – you don’t want to try and hail a cab at this time. Come on.”

Leonard gives in and follows Jim to his car, and feels slightly less guilty when it turns out his apartment isn’t too far from Jim’s. He settles in the passenger seat and they travel in silence: after they pass the first two bars and Leonard feels that tug in the base of his stomach, he shuts his eyes and lets Jim simply drive. When they get there, he gets out of the car like his every limb weighs 300 pounds – it’s not like regular exhaustion, but feels much worse, and he can’t even be bothered to protest when Jim follows him into his apartment building and up to the fifth floor.

He slumps onto a stool in the kitchen, leaning heavily on the counter, and watches as Jim navigates his cupboards, getting the coffee pot going and retrieving bread, PB and J. He’s utterly calm and collected as he does it. “How do you deal with shit like that every day?” Leonard asks him.

Jim shrugs. “I don’t, some of the time. Sometimes a case totally fucks me up and I feel like all I want to do is go out and start a fight: kick someone’s teeth in and get myself beaten up too. Turns out that’s not a great coping strategy, though, so I took up boxing instead.” He flashes Leonard a quick smile. “I also run like I’m being chased most days for a good hour if I can fit it in. But that’s mostly so I can comfort eat.”

“What about drinking?” Leonard asks before he can stop himself.

“I’m lucky. Not my vice,” Jim replies. He’s paused in his sandwich preparation, looking at Leonard. “Know plenty of people whose it is, though. Three months?”

“Nearly six.”

“Nice job,” he says, and manages not to sounds patronising, just genuinely pleased for Leonard. “You been to a meeting today?”

“Uh huh.”

“Did it help?”

“Very little. And that was before I saw that little girl. I mean. Jesus. Who the fuck does something like that?” He scrubs his hands over his face. “I mean, the parents seemed so nice, you know? Concerned about the fever. Nothing else. And then they were so shocked!”

Jim goes back to making the sandwich, spreading the fillings carefully. “The truth is, there are more people who do stuff like that than you want to know. And often, they’re the best fucking actors on the planet. You wouldn’t suspect these people in a million years, and they get away with it because they cultivate this image, this nice-guy image that’s so at odds with the monstrous act that people just can’t reconcile the two.” He takes a breath and stops spreading the jelly, realising at the same time as Leonard does that his movements are getting a little disorderly.

“Eat this,” he says a second later, plating up the sandwich and sliding it over to Leonard. “And you know, maybe you’re right. There are other people who may have had access to the kid in that way. Or maybe even the bleeding was a sign of something else. The important thing is that it’s going to be investigated. And that’s what makes my job bearable, you know? At least we’re listening to people and following up on their stories; believing them. It means something.”

Leonard nods and takes a bite of his sandwich: he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to eat given the subject matter of their conversation but he finds that he’s starving – he hasn’t eaten anything except brunch before seeing Joanna and a couple of cookies at the church hall. Jim sips at a cup of coffee – he has refused Leonard any and given him water instead, which Leonard isn’t happy about but also reluctantly admits is a sensible choice.

When he’s done, Leonard sits back, feeling tired again. “I guess it makes sense, what you say about the act itself being so heinous it’s almost unimaginable, un-connectable to people who look so normal. But really, it’s not so much of a stretch, is it? Parents hurt their kids all the goddamn time, whether they mean to or not.”

Jim looks at him steadily. “Bones, whatever’s gone on today with you, and I’m guessing it’s to do with your daughter, it can’t possibly be anything like what you saw tonight.”

“No, you’re right,” Leonard says bleakly, “but I’m still hurting her in other ways. Have been for a long time, though I couldn’t see it till I finally got on the wagon.”

“It happens,” Jim says quietly.

“It shouldn’t, though! I should never have let it go so far south. She shouldn’t have had her life screwed up by _my_ mistakes – the drinking’s the reason for the divorce, if you hadn’t guessed. Got started after my dad died, and I didn’t realise it was making her and Jocelyn so _miserable_ , so frightened, until one day-“ He pauses, swallowing hard against the hot wave of guilt flooding his oesophagus. Jim leans against the counter patiently, letting him breathe. 

“We were arguing, and I got so mad I threw a bottle of Scotch against the wall. Not at her, and not at Joanna – she wasn’t even there – but it broke, and a piece of the glass ricocheted and hit Joss’ leg. She had these two trickles of blood on her left shin.

“She left me that night. Said she wasn’t prepared to stay with someone who could lose control like that, and that she couldn’t let me near Joanna if that was the kind of thing I was capable of doing. And she was right: I know she’s right, I’d kill myself before I ever hurt Jo like that. But that shocked me out of it, I went off the booze straight away and I agreed to Jocelyn’s every demand at the custody hearing and I signed the divorce papers and I moved to this detestable cockroach palace of a city and it just feels like it will never really be enough, you know? I’m fighting a losing fucking battle.”

Jim is still just watching him, his expression neutral. He stays quiet, and still, his breathing barely making a sound.

“You can just leave, if you want,” Leonard offers hoarsely after the silence drags on. “I’ll tear up your number, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“No,” Jim says, startling him. “I’m not gonna leave, Bones. You called me for a good reason, you know. You were protecting a kid who needed it. First time I met you, you were so invested in Janice, I could tell right away. And then when you were treating me, you did everything you could to put me at ease. You’re not a bad guy, Bones, you’re just a lonely dude in a strange city who made a mistake. A real shitty mistake, yeah, but you’ve owned it. You’re trying to make amends. So things aren’t perfect; your daughter’s not fully okay yet. Kids are resilient – if there’s one thing I know, it’s that. So just, give yourself a break, huh? Get some sleep, for starters.”

His little speech doesn’t make everything suddenly sunshine and peaches, but there’s something in the sincerity of Jim’s voice and gaze that makes Leonard feel like he can breathe a little easier, like he’s an elastic band wrapped round pencils too tightly and someone’s just loosened one of the coils. And he’s shattered, all at once, exhaustion descending like a veil. He barely notices the walk to his bedroom, Jim’s palm cupping his elbow until he’s deposited on the bed. “Not a kid,” he mumbles belligerently.

“Yeah, well, you’re dopey as a toddler in the middle of a sugar crash,” Jim tells him. “You manage your shoes?”

“Yes,” Leonard slurs, kicking them off haphazardly before laying down, knowing vaguely he’ll be uncomfortable when he wakes up from sleeping in his day clothes but not remotely feeling capable of changing. Jim chuckles lightly, reminding him of his presence. “You ‘kay getting’ home?”

“Er, yeah, I’m not the one passing out right now,” Jim says. “Night, Bones. Quit being so hard on yourself.”

Leonard can feel sleep taking him, heavy and insistent, but he thinks – hopes – that before he succumbs he manages to breathe out a sincere, “Thanks.” Then he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Child Sexual Abuse: a baby with blood in her nappy is reported for investigation to the SVU. 
> 
> Alcoholism/Domestic Violence: Bones discusses an incident when he was drinking when he does something aggressive which unintentionally physically harms his ex-wife. The injury is very mild and his daughter is not present.


End file.
